Posts Tagged ‘Journey

21
Jul
17

हमेशा की तरह

मेरे
ज़हन में बसने वाली
वह
कल
बहुत दिनों बाद
झुंझलाई सी
आई, और
धम्म से
तुनक कर
बैठ गयी;
और मैं
हमेशा की तरह
उसको
निहारता रहा|

Continue reading ‘हमेशा की तरह’

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21
Jun
17

इसलिए

दिमाग फितूरी था
इसलिए
बहुत सोचा इक
दिन
फिर से
अपने बारे में;
और जाने किस
गुबार में
अष्टाव्रक जिंदगी
के उस कोने
की सफाई करने
चला।
25
Sep
15

Shadows of a Haunting

“Each leaf that brushed his face deepened his sadness and dread. Each leaf he passed he’d never pass again. They rode over his face like veils, already some yellow, their veins like slender bones where the sun shone through them. He had resolved himself to ride on for he could not turn back and the world that day was as lovely as any day that ever was and he was riding to his death.”  – Cormac McCarthy, Child of God

Where do people go when they disappear? I mean, what happens to them? How do they disappear?

I know a person, whose mother-in-law, once walked out of the house, supposedly to buy something – and disappeared. Simply vanished. The family is fairly rich and they spent a huge amount in trying to trace her. The police; private detectives; advertisements with photograph in all major newspapers……it has been over twenty-five years now and no trace of her. Nothing has been found. Not even a body. Such an amazing situation. Where did she go? What happened to her?

How wonderful would it be to disappear? Just to go away from everything. But, technically, you cannot disappear if you are still in some one’s mind? When does one stop being remembered? How does one make memories go away somewhere? How do I make my ‘memory’ disappear forever from somebody else’s mind?

*

Continue reading ‘Shadows of a Haunting’

15
Apr
15

#38

The waves of colour

submerge me and I drown

with joy

revelling in silvery-gold downpour.

The music ecstatically

swirls intricate blue sources of radiance;

Continue reading ‘#38’

03
Aug
09

Opening Thoughts!

My journey in search of home in this country of mine has kept me living on the very edge of a fringe.

There are innumerable memories and images that constantly haunt me. Events, which for me, were so powerful and potent that I often found myself living in no-man’s land, where reality merged with fantasy, as a tool to block out the pain and noise. And, to remain sane in the midst of all insanity I unendingly moved into the forests and was ever so often prolific in keeping notes.

From the forests into the concrete jungle with its specialised networking animals, I have a transient need to share some of my thoughts – times of yore and on-going. For someone who still refuses to be part of the now customary social online-communities, the opening of this blog-space itself is a very uncomfortable feeling. Why am I doing this? Is it because the system is slowing down and moving towards an eventual shut-down and I want to – what? I question myself each time I decide to post something…and delay the posting! How long will I be able to maintain this exposition is a query that does not have an answer yet.

So where do I start from? Innumerable things have happened in my life that have been extremely turbulent – emotionally, physically, professionally and of course, financially.

Allow me to meander as it could be therapeutic. Not so for you, dear reader!

Over the years many intellectual types have asked me what I do and/or if I have a formula/secret that I use for my work. I have never been able to respond adequately and the questions have left me more perturbed. How to simplify and come back with something that would satisfy people, make them shut-up and spare me the anguish of constantly trying to make others understand and attempt to carve a personal space within the given Indian society. I didn’t really give a hoot then and don’t give a damn now! But, there were days when I wished I had a satisfactory social image of a ‘recognised and respected’ profession.

As someone who does not believe in the concept of God, I can’t even say, “It is God’s grace.” I guess I was born with a special sensitivity towards young people and I worked by instinctively tuning in to individual minds.  This particular linking process cannot be explained by me and the same progression has kept me actively involved with wildlife. Bunions of the mind! Check www.sacredfig.wordpress.com

My parents sent me to a school (Shiv Niketan), which was different from the other educational institutions. I thrived and that experience laid the foundation to what I am doing today. Unfortunately, aunty Gauba’s Shiv Niketan was not even a middle school then and I had to leave that haven and move to the so-called ‘normal’ schools. It was traumatic and I hated every living moment till my 12th standard. On those occasions, when I bunked regular school and walked miles just to be able to stand weeping in front of Shiv Niketan, it was she who used to come down, cross the road and hold me.

I try, through my work, to give children and young people, the same positive inputs that Shiv Niketan gave me.

There are many pictures in my mind that haunt me and I try to come to terms with them through my work.

Random Picture #1. Watching a hungry child lick the dry vomit off the side of a bus.

Random Picture #2. Kachchh earthquake – not being able to dig any further to reach the buried person. Holding the delicate hand till life slipped away.

Random Picture #3. Spotting my first tiger at the age of six.

Random Picture #4. Being thrashed by a teacher for asking a question.

Random Picture #5. Parents of two different communities teaching their children how to make cement spike-balls to kill each other.

Random Picture #6. In the cold upper regions of Uttarakhand, just below the Nanda Devi Biosphere Reserve; peering into the shy and tearful eyes of Bhutia girls returning from PWD road repair work – their fingers and palms lacerated and bleeding.

Many years ago, when I started The Playhouse the idea was to give the young people of this country an opportunity to channelize their energies positively; to give them an environment of learning that was not threatening; an atmosphere where they had the courage to take their minds for a walk and ask questions; a place where they learned to respect each other; a comfort zone where they could think and relax; an interactive area where they learnt to apply a self-imposed discipline; a meeting ground of minds where they realised that aesthetics was a process of thinking; where they learnt about Freedom – that there was a condition to it. That to achieve freedom to do something they had to know what it was they wanted to achieve – a theme! A place where they came to terms with the concept that it took discipline to achieve freedom BUT also that discipline did not mean regimentation. It just happened to be the power over the mind.

The Playhouse nurtured the Intelligences of the young people because these were the individuals – boys and girls – who hopefully would bring about a change in our society. The tasks became tougher but we continued to look beyond the various rigid frames.

All this meant that there was never enough money to fill the household kitty and my idealism did not really impress the people who I thought cared. I found it difficult to explain to explain to them that

hoping to give
birth
before the feeling
died,
i conceived a still-born
idea and
kept it alive
by my soul’s
umbilical cord;
i painted
colours and fed
the foetus
phantasmal pictures
without frames or
borders,
so that the spirit
would soar and
in the
eventual sublimity
i shall merge
my breathing.

My work took me across Europe, Asia, parts of Africa and Australasia…and each time I returned to my country rejuvenated and with strength to continue. I travelled through the lands of India and worked with people of all ages. The process of learning took a greater dimension with wildlife and conservation issues running hand-in-hand with other concerns.

That is the way the cookie has been crumbling, ever since and today

Like an empty sponge

I move from

person to person

situation to situation,

absorbing

everything,

retaining nothing

for

I sense so much

but feel

no more.

My demon is private;

and as I slowly

empty out and exhibit the

skeletons, I

realize

from the stirring of a long

forgotten memory

that the cupboard

will soon be bare, and then

maybe I will

fill it again and tie

the demon with my tears,

so that I can

feel

again.